The Tenth Weasley - CH - 95

The morning dawned bright and brittle, the sky a pale winter blue as Harry pulled on his thickest cloak. The excitement of the day ahead made his stomach flutter like he was eleven again, about to shop for Hogwarts supplies for the very first time.

Downstairs, the kitchen was already bustling. Ginny had her hair tied back with a green ribbon, Ron was rummaging through the pockets of his coat for a spare Sickle, and Arthur was fussing over a roll of parchment with everyone’s shopping lists.

“Remember,” Arthur said, voice patient but firm as he looked around the crowded kitchen, “we meet back at the Leaky Cauldron by two o’clock sharp for lunch. And no one leaves Diagon Alley without telling me first.”

“Yes, Dad,” chorused several voices at once.

Harry checked that his money pouch was secure in his pocket. He couldn’t help feeling self-conscious—between the Order of the Silver Flame prize and the reward for capturing the poachers, he had more Galleons than he’d ever imagined possessing. For once, he could buy exactly what he wanted for everyone he cared about, and it felt…good.

“Ready?” Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.

Ron grinned. “Definitely.”

Molly bustled over, smoothing Ginny’s hair and straightening Ron’s scarf as if they were much younger. “Honestly,” she muttered, “you’d think you were marching off to war, not shopping.”

“You haven’t seen Fred and George in a sweet shop,” Percy said under his breath.

They all laughed.

Arthur went first into the fireplace, dropping a pinch of Floo powder and calling clearly, “Leaky Cauldron!”

In a shimmer of green fire, he vanished. Molly followed, then Percy, then Ginny, Fred, George, and Ron.

Harry was the last to step in, heart beating with a strange mix of nostalgia and anticipation.

“Leaky Cauldron!”

The spinning sensation hit him hard, the world blurring into a whirl of hearths and firelight. When it cleared, he stumbled out onto the familiar stone hearth of the Leaky Cauldron’s back room, brushing soot from his shoulders.

“Merlin,” he muttered, “never gets easier.”

Ginny was already tugging Fred’s arm. “Come on! Zonko’s will sell out of the new fireworks!”

“We’ll catch up!” George called to the rest, and the twins vanished into the taproom, Ginny close behind.

Molly gave a resigned sigh. “I’m going to Gladrags. Don’t any of you follow unless you wish to spend three hours picking out buttons.”

Ron looked horrified. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Molly said sweetly, and disappeared into the crowd.

Arthur cleared his throat. “All right, then. Everyone knows where they’re going?”

“I’m with you, Dad,” Percy said, smoothing his hair.

Harry caught Ron’s eye. “You want to come with me?”

“Definitely,” Ron said. “Someone has to help you carry everything.”

Arthur clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Try not to buy out all of Diagon Alley, hmm?”

Harry laughed. “No promises.”

And just like that, they stepped out into the bright bustle of Diagon Alley.

Snow had been swept into tidy heaps against the shopfronts. Witches in fur-lined robes hurried past, arms full of packages tied with scarlet ribbons. The shop windows glowed with golden light—displays of enchanted toys, charmed wreaths, and jewel-colored sweets.

“First stop?” Ron asked.

Harry gestured toward Gringotts. “Might as well get the money sorted.”

The great white building rose ahead of them, tall and grand as ever. Goblins in polished uniforms flanked the door, their sharp eyes flicking over each witch and wizard who entered.

Inside, the marble hall was as cold and echoing as Harry remembered. He and Ron waited in line behind a wizard with a singing money pouch.

When it was Harry’s turn, a goblin with a monocle peered over the counter. “Name?”

“Harry Weasley,” he said, still not quite used to it.

The goblin consulted a ledger, then nodded. “Mr. Weasley. Your vault has been updated to reflect your recent deposits.”

Harry handed over his key, heart fluttering when he followed the goblin to a cart.

“Coming?” he asked Ron.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Ron said, hopping in beside him.

The cart rattled off into the tunnels, the cold air whipping their faces.

When they stopped, Harry stepped into the dim vault. Gold glimmered in neat stacks—more than he could ever have imagined, certainly more than he’d ever need.

“Blimey,” Ron whispered, awestruck. “You could buy… I dunno… half of Diagon Alley.”

Harry grinned. “Good thing I’m only buying gifts.”

He filled a bag with enough Galleons to buy something special for every friend, every sibling, every person who’d written him in the last weeks.

Back in the alley, they made their way from shop to shop.

In Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry picked out a broom-servicing kit for Victor. In Flourish and Blotts, he bought an advanced rune manual for Sonja, and a history of magical creatures for Ingrid. For Louis, he found a deluxe enchanted camera.

“Think he’ll like it?” Harry asked, showing Ron the label.

“Are you kidding? He’ll sleep with it under his pillow,” Ron said.

At Madam Malkin’s, he chose a pair of silver-threaded gloves for Hermione, knowing she’d never splurge on something pretty for herself. For Luna, he bought a box of shimmering pastel quills and a thick journal with a cover that changed colors every time you touched it.

By the time the clock struck two, Harry and Ron were staggering under bags and boxes. They made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, where the rest of the Weasleys were gathering around a long table set for lunch.

Molly looked up from a steaming tureen of stew. “You two look exhausted!”

“Worth it,” Harry said, setting his bags down with a thump.

Ginny peered into one sack. “You’d better have gotten me something.”

Harry just smiled. “Wait and see.”

And as he sat with his family—warmth all around him, snow drifting past the window—he realized this was everything he’d fought for.


The post office in Diagon Alley was chaos in the best sense of the word. Long counters lined the walls, each stacked high with packages waiting to be sent across Britain and beyond. Dozens of owls—barn owls, tawny owls, a few hulking eagle owls—perched on brass rods overhead, hooting impatiently as wizards and witches bustled below.

It took three clerks to help the Weasleys organize their mountain of gifts. Harry stood at the counter with Ron, carefully tying a label to a neatly wrapped parcel addressed to Durmstrang: Sonja Vilkova—Dragon Class Dormitory.

“You think she’ll like the book?” Harry asked, glancing at Ron.

“Mate, stop doubting yourself,” Ron said, watching an owl swoop down to take a package. “An book is perfect.”

Next to them, Ginny was handing over her packages—one to Luna, another to Hermione, and a third with a tag that read Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts. Fred and George were arguing about whether to pay extra to send their newest line of joke sweets to Lee Jordan by express delivery.

“All I’m saying,” Fred insisted, “is that the Nausea Nougats will spoil if they sit too long.”

George rolled his eyes. “They’re supposed to spoil. That’s how they work.”

Molly looked mildly appalled as she addressed a parcel for Aunt Muriel. “If you two get banned from the post office again, don’t expect me to bail you out.”

Percy stood primly with a stack of carefully labeled boxes. “Some of us are sending sensible gifts, thank you.”

Within half an hour, the last box was tied with twine and whisked away in a flurry of wings. The clerks gave them polite but clearly relieved smiles as they finally stepped back from the counter.

“Well,” Arthur said, rubbing his hands together, “I think that’s enough commerce for one day. Let’s go home.”

It took only moments to Floo back to the Weasley Manor. Harry stepped out into the kitchen first, arms full of the last of the family presents that would be exchanged in person.

He was about to call out when he heard voices drifting in from the sitting room.

“…bought it already?” Molly’s voice, sounding choked with emotion.

Bill laughed, warm and satisfied. “Yes, Mum. Charlie and I went to look this morning, and I knew the moment I stepped inside.”

Curious, Harry set the parcels down and peeked around the doorway.

Bill stood near the hearth, tall and windswept, his hair tied back. Charlie lounged in an armchair, looking smug. Bill held up a heavy iron key ring, a gleam in his eyes.

“It’s a Victorian place,” Bill was explaining. “Three stories, big garden, plenty of outbuildings. The Muggles who owned it had no idea what to do with all the space. Needs work, but the bones are solid.”

Molly pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes shining. “Oh, Bill…”

Arthur stepped forward and pulled Bill into a hug. “I’m proud of you, son. Your own house.”

Charlie grinned. “He’s been saving for years. Soon as he saw the place, I knew he’d do it.”

Ron and Ginny came in behind Harry, their eyes widening.

“You really bought a house?” Ron asked, amazed.

Bill turned, his face splitting into a grin. “I did.” He held out the keys so everyone could see. “After a bit of warding and some charmwork, it’ll be perfect. I’ll have you all over once it’s fit to visit.”

Harry stepped in fully. “Where is it?”

“Not far,” Bill said. “Half an hour’s walk from here. On the old road past Ottery St. Catchpole. It used to belong to a Muggle family who went abroad.”

Molly dabbed at her eyes with her apron. “You were always so determined to make your own way. I can’t believe it’s really happening.”

Bill smiled at her, softer now. “You’ll still see me every day, Mum.”

“We’d better,” Fred called as he and George appeared, laden with the last of the shopping. “If you think you can escape Sunday dinners—”

“You’re dreaming,” George finished.

Molly let out a watery laugh. “You’re all impossible.”

Arthur clapped Bill on the back again. “When do you plan to start moving in?”

“After the holidays,” Bill said. “I’ll need to strip out some of the Muggle wiring and install proper wards. I thought I’d ask Harry’s help.”

Harry blinked. “Me?”

“You’re the best at layered protective charms I know,” Bill said matter-of-factly. “And I’d like to do it right.”

Harry felt a little glow of pride. “Of course. Just tell me when.”

Charlie stretched his arms behind his head. “Wait until you see it. Huge fireplaces. A conservatory that’ll be perfect for brewing. And a cellar you could lose Fred in for days.”

Fred looked intrigued. “Challenge accepted.”

Molly threw her hands up, smiling through her tears. “Well. This calls for tea.”

They gathered around the kitchen table, voices overlapping in a bright tangle of plans. Bill described the creaking staircase and the carved banisters. Charlie teased him about the overgrown garden. Ron asked if he could have first pick of any old treasures left behind.

And through it all, Harry sat and listened, feeling something warm unfurl in his chest.

He was home. His family was growing, stretching into new spaces—but the bond between them had never felt stronger.



It was still snowing by evening, fat flakes drifting past the windows and piling high against the garden wall. Inside the manor, the air was golden with firelight and scented with Molly’s cooking—roast chicken, baked potatoes, and a bubbling casserole that Harry couldn’t even identify but smelled delicious.

They’d all sat around the table—Bill, Charlie, Percy, the twins, Ron, Ginny, Harry, Arthur—and then the door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and the guests Molly had been fussing over all afternoon.

Andromeda Tonks swept in first, elegant in a deep blue cloak, her dark hair streaked with silver. Right behind her was her daughter, who grinned the moment she saw the crowded room.

“Evening!” she called brightly.

“Nymphadora,” Andromeda said in exasperation, “please mind your manners.”

Tonks made a face. “Mum, I told you—just Tonks.”

She shrugged out of her cloak, revealing short pink hair that clashed magnificently with her bright yellow jumper. Fred and George looked instantly fascinated.

“Hi,” Ginny said, blinking. “Is your hair always like that?”

Tonks grinned. “Only when I’m in a good mood.”

She pulled a chair up beside Bill, who was trying very hard to look polite and not at all cornered.

Dinner started cheerfully enough. Tonks launched straight into stories from her Auror training—how she’d tripped over her own feet during stealth exercises, how she’d accidentally turned her eyebrows neon green for a week, and how she’d once impersonated a Ministry official purely by accident.

“Oh, go on,” Charlie said, leaning forward. “Show them.”

Tonks winked. With a little squint and a pop, her features shifted, her nose lengthening, her hair darkening until she looked exactly like Professor Snape scowling over a cauldron.

Everyone burst into laughter.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” she intoned in Snape’s voice.

Fred nearly fell off his chair. “You have to teach us how to do that!”

Tonks switched back to her usual face, her grin wide. “Sorry, lads—Metamorphmagus talent. Born with it.”

As the plates were cleared and dessert appeared—Molly’s treacle tart and warm custard—Harry began to notice that every other remark seemed to circle back to Bill.

“…and of course,” Molly was saying, “Bill’s so reliable, always so steady, especially now he’s bought his own house…”

Tonks dabbed her lips with her napkin. “A house? That sounds serious.”

“It is,” Molly said brightly. “And so near the family, too.”

Bill shifted uncomfortably. “Mum—”

“And you know,” Molly went on, smiling in a way that made all the Weasley children glance at each other, “Tonks isn’t seeing anyone just now. Too busy with her training, I expect.”

Tonks went pinker than her hair. “Er—”

“Mum.” Bill’s voice was strained.

Molly patted his hand. “I just think it would be nice if you had someone to share things with, dear.”

Fred and George were biting their lips to keep from laughing. Ginny was staring into her custard, mortified.

Harry tried to catch Bill’s eye and mouth sorry, but Bill looked like he was mentally packing to move to Australia.

After pudding, Andromeda tactfully suggested she and Tonks should head home before the snow got worse. Tonks stood awkwardly, clutching her cloak.

“Bill, it was…nice to meet you,” she managed.

Bill stood too, voice tight. “You as well.”

When the door shut behind them, the room fell silent. Molly dabbed at her eyes with her apron.

“Bill,” she said tremulously, “I’m only trying to help you. You’re nearly twenty five, you know. Most wizards your age—”

“Mum,” Bill interrupted, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I know exactly how old I am.”

Arthur sighed and squeezed Molly’s shoulder.

“I’m not saying you have to marry her,” Molly sniffled, now pulling out all the stops, “just…just try dating her. She’s lovely. And I worry about you, all alone—”

Bill threw up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Fine. I’ll take her to dinner. Once.”

Molly brightened instantly, tears vanishing as though they’d never been there. “That’s all I wanted, dear!”

Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered, “I swear she keeps tears on standby for exactly this.”

Harry didn’t answer—he was too busy trying not to laugh.

Bill turned to the rest of them, glaring as though daring anyone to comment.

Fred opened his mouth, then thought better of it and shoved another spoonful of treacle tart in instead.

“Good,” Molly declared, wiping her cheeks briskly. “Now, who wants more custard?”